My Most Memorable Birthday

A birthday is undeniably a special day or at least should be to the person that was given the gift of life on that particular day. Perhaps the idea of balloons, pin the tail on the donkey and swiping a stick at a piñata radiates as the ideal birthday for some, but as a child I never experienced that so the memories have not faded but never had the chance to permeate as unforgettable. There is one birthday however that has most definitely etched a portrait in my mind that is most treasured.
At the age of twenty-one my cousin convinced my mom to allow me to take a trip with her to Jamaica. Being that my mother was and still is a woman that loves to travel, it was difficult for her to deny me this experience. I can recall packing and re-packing my bags several times, not sure exactly what would be appropriate, besides my array of beachwear that I had thoughtlessly invested in. I finally decided that less was more, considering I had pictured myself spending five days on the beach in a tropical paradise.
The flight from Los Angeles to Montego Bay Jamaica was long and anxious. We arrived at Donald Sangster Airport and I was first hit with a humidity that not even words can describe. I could not believe I was in Jamaica, the Island of "Irie." Jamaica, the hot, humid, ancient airport, the patois spoken so fast, it no longer sounded like broken English, but another language, the stares that made me wonder if they were welcoming and the extra courtesy for a well needed American dollar, will never leave my memory.
The long ride from Montego Bay to Negril most definitely added color to my mental portrait of Jamaica. There were fast moving cars, horns blowing, beautiful green foliage surrounded me, and yes, the woman walking down the road carrying a basket on her head. My heart was full with excitement and anticipation.
Our temporary residence in Negril was an attractive two-bedroom bungalow surrounded by slightly overgrown St. Augustine grass and coconut trees with birds of paradise lining the rear of the property. Not only did we have this adorable bungalow but our own chef that was available to cook two meals each day for us. The idea of having your very own chef sounds good but when you are a person young in age and mind with an undeveloped palate, having him around was both a waste of time and money. Most of the things he prepared I wouldn't even try, is there a McDonalds? I wondered. What I wouldn't give to do that all over again.
One of my main objectives was to get a tan, so my cousin and I felt it only fitting that we hit the beach immediately and in less than five minutes in that hot mid-day Jamaican sun, the hint of a tan was noticeable. While lying on the beautiful beach, I fell asleep and woke up a few hours later to discover that my skin had turned a shade of charcoal gray. Unaware of my temporary skin issue, I can only recall my cousin's outcry upon seeing me, "your skin is gray!". We rushed to our bungalow and as sure as the sky is blue and the Jamaican sun is hot, my skin was gray. Being that twenty-one is not the most mature age one can reach, I thought to myself "maybe I should take a shower". Who has ever heard of washing away a suntan? Needless to say, it didn't work, neither did oiling my skin; Adding oil to my burnt gray skin made blister-like bumps appear. The gray suntan had me worried; actually scared! As with any other burn the remnants of my initial sear disappeared and I was left with the most beautiful caramel complexion I could have ever hoped for.
The next four days were spent appreciating the twenty-four hours that make up a day. Life is so laid back in Jamaica; the concept of time becomes a mute issue. We passed the time by walking around town and munching on jerk chicken we'd purchased from roadside vendors. We went to several night clubs and attempted to dance the reggae style, and speak patois. We purchased souvenirs for loved ones and spent a lot of time at the beach, which is where I found out that fish can dwell in sand under water. As I sat in the shallow section of the most clear and beautiful ocean water I had ever seen, adding to my mental portrait, there appeared little black fish, the size of goldfish. They swam around me as if they were paying homage to the gods, in a circular motion, some clock wise and the others counter clock wise, all swimming around and none swimming away. The simplicity of myself and another of God's creations sharing time and space in harmony and peace was beautiful.
Let me not forget our visit to the world famous Ricks Café. Rick's is a charming little café on the edge of town where people of all races and varying levels of senselessness come to dive off the rocky cliff to the waters below. At that time in my life, I could not even fathom the idea of watching others take the leap. Instead I opted to sit at my table, book in hand, with my back to the God forsaken events that were taking place just 20 feet from where I sat. Unfortunately I am unable to add the memory of a diver jumping off the edge of the cliffs to my repertoire of memories, but every moment spent on the tiny island of Jamaica, has left me richer than I was before I arrived; Richer in an appreciation for simplicity, so as I journey through life, and share my portrait of experiences with my children, Jamaica reminds me that the gift of life, no matter what the occasion, should be treasured.